Cadence
by Rockkett
Summary: "Cadence" covers the happenings between March of 1980 and goes through and, eventually, beyond the Animaniacs series from the perspectives of an unknowingly 'gifted' talent scout and his daughter. Inspired by the events of "Family," an amazing fic by the talented The Middle Warner Sibling.
1. Prologue

-March 28, 1980-

Gus Anderson was a broken man. Not four months before, he had lost his wife and daughter to a car accident only a few miles from their home. There had been nothing left for him in Kokomo, and he had decided to return to his childhood home in Burbank, California. So he found himself, now, standing before the very place he had so gleefully left for Indiana; Warner Brothers Animation Studio.

"Mr. Plotz will see you now," The young receptionist told him. The large double doors to Plotz's office, he noted dryly, were just as imposing as ever. He entered cautiously, eyes darting around the room curiously…not much had changed. The small man had been sitting in his chair, staring out of the large window and down onto the lot. Upon hearing Gus enter, he swiveled around and a grin of recognition broke out on his face.

"Gus! My, my, I haven't seen you in ages! I thought you were still out in Indiana. What brings you back here?" Gus's slight smile vanished and his breath caught.

"It's a, um…long story," He said, a fake smile spanning his face. Plotz didn't seem to take notice.

"Nonsense! It's been, what," The toon stopped a moment and wracked his brain, "twenty years or so, right? I've got plenty of time for an old friend." Gus simply blinked at him, deliberating as to whether or not he would really tell him. He didn't really want to tell him, but he had as much of a right to know as anyone. Besides, he figured it was time to accept what had happened and move on.

"Lisa and my daughter passed away recently," He answered hesitantly. Plotz's grin faded almost instantly. "I moved for Lisa after we were married, to be closer to her family. After they, um…you know," He glanced sideways and swallowed hard; grief was a bitter taste. "There was nothing left for me out there. So I came home." Gus immediately diverted his eyes to his hands folded in his lap, briefly seeing the expression of his old friend as he did so. He felt a bit better getting that weight off his chest, but the memories he triggered, though faded a bit, still stung.

The old toon wasn't quite sure what to say to him. It seemed as though it had only been moments before that a young man had sat before him, informing him of his resignation. "Lisa needs to be with her family. There's nothing for us out here, and besides, I could use a fresh start," He had said, eyes shining at the thought of the young woman he was to marry. The young man, whom he had almost come to see as a son over twenty years ago, was not the same man who sat before him today. Instead, he had been replaced by a worn and tired looking thing. Plotz heart broke as he realized that the old Gus had died right along with his wife and child.

"I'm sorry," Plotz finally managed to say, though slowly and with much thought. "How have you been holding up?" He glanced away awkwardly as Gus simply shook his head. "Well then…surely you didn't just come by for a chat. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you were interested in hiring me back as a talent scout," Gus answered slowly, nerves causing his heart to creep up his throat. "I'm out of a job, Thaddeus, and I'm desperate." The old toon peered at him quizzically, almost seeming to size him up.

"I'd love to, Gus, but I don't know if I can." Plotz said quietly, instantly regretting his words at the sight of Gus's reaction. "It's not you, Gus, believe me. Toon Town has become a very different place since you left, and it hasn't changed for the better." Gus raised an eyebrow.

"What's been going on?" He asked, voice edged in suspicion.

"Too much, honestly," Plotz sighed. "Drugs, murders, scandals, gangs, you name it, they've probably done it."

"That's nothing new," Gus scoffed, spying a scuff on his shoe in the meantime.

"It's much worse," Plotz insisted with a frown. "They've beefed up border control to an almost ludicrous level. It would be difficult to commute, and at any rate, it's dangerous for humans nowadays. If I did hire you, you'd have to sign a release."

"Please," Gus answered, leaning closer. His voice had taken on a tone of seriousness that Plotz hadn't been expecting, and his eyes widened a bit with surprise. "Thaddeus, you have no idea how much I've missed this," Plotz smiled at his answer, but it was barely noticeable. He didn't want to get the human's hopes up. For a moment, Plotz struggled to think of a reason he could give to decline, but finally sighed in resignation.

"You're pretty persistent, Anderson." He said, extending a hand. "But if you want the job, it's yours." For a moment, Thaddeus could have sworn that he saw a glint of Gus as he had been; face alight with a fantastic grin. After a moment, he added with a chuckle, "Besides, the animation studio hasn't been the same since you left. We could definitely use you back on staff."

"I hadn't wanted to say anything," Gus laughed heartily, firmly shaking Plotz's hand. It was good to be back.


	2. A Little Problem

-October 23, 1981-

It was strange to be living the bachelor's life again. Aside from the added sense of responsibility and loneliness, nothing much had changed. Work was fun for him again, unlike the boring office job he had taken in Indiana. He had never realized how much he had missed working with toons, and, though he found it hard to admit, the other talent scouts, too; although they weren't particularly fond of humans and found it difficult to believe that Gus actually /wanted/ to spend hours commuting through Customs to get into and leave Toon Town every day.

He had also gotten back into drawing again, much to his surprise. He had never really realized how much he had missed it. He had used to draw for his wife all the time, before they had met and just after they had married, but following Sarah's birth he simply didn't have the time. A baby was a demanding thing, if anything at all. A bittersweet smile touched his face, but only for a moment. How long had it been, now? Eight months? A year, maybe? He took a look at the calendar on the paneled wall above his desk and felt disbelief hit him like a ton of bricks. Almost two years. It had been nearly two years since his family had slipped out of his world on a patch of black ice. He instantly felt angry with himself; how could he have forgotten anyways? His throat constricted at the thought. It was still strange to wake up without his wife beside him, and it felt as though he was forgetting what it had been like. At times he was almost convinced that he heard the light treading of his daughter's bare feet on the wooden flooring, just out of sight.

He sighed and put down his pen, now craning his neck back to examine his work. Upon the page sat a little toon he had doodled. He smiled at the result; she- or at least he considered her a she- was pretty cute. Absentmindedly, he swiped at a smudge across her left shoulder, frowning as he realized it wasn't being removed. He leaned in closer to examine, only to groan at his discovery. Earlier he had cut his hand, and in the meantime, had somehow managed to reopen the wound; now he had not only bled on his line-art, but added considerably to what had already been smeared on it.

"So much for that," he grumbled as he stood and looked at the clock that hung, somewhat crookedly, above the doorway to the bathroom. It was half-past twelve; Friday morning already. He'd have to be up for work in a mere six hours or so, and he figured he might as well make the most of what sleep he could afford. He stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed a beer before making his way upstairs, flicking off the lights as he went. It was a little late- or early, depending on how you looked at it- to be drinking, but he of all people knew fully well that you only live once.

* * *

Gus awoke well before the sun to a noise that was very loud, very repetitive, and very annoying. He rolled over and tried to ignore it, but gave up rather quickly. Groaning, he pulled on his house slippers, stood, and shambled over to the lights, bracing himself as best he could for the pain he knew was coming, and flicked them on. What time was it? Glancing at the clock, he could feel a scowl growing across his face. It was only five thirty-two…really? He grabbed his robe from the back of his door and slung it on tiredly before beginning his long and slow journey downstairs. Where was that noise coming from? If he were fully awake, it wouldn't have taken him near as long; however, at the moment his mind was completely fuzzy. Simply stringing together basic thoughts was difficult to him, let alone tracking the source of his discomfort. He stumbled into his living room and flipped on the lights. He really hadn't been prepared for what he saw sitting before him on the shag carpet.

Was he drunk? He was fairly sure he was drunk- there was no way he could be sober and be seeing this. There, on his outdated carpet, was a loudly wailing, little toon. She was an infant, and female, no doubt, looking roughly to be about five or six months old at the most. Her ears sat high on her head and were folded at the tips. Her fur was amber in color with a white collar around her neck; it tapered to the back and widened at the front, eventually running down the length of her stomach. A darker helmet of fur framed her face and shaded her ears before fading into her primary fur color just above the base of her neck. He tilted his head and peered at her a bit longer, his sluggish brain half-assedly searching for answers. She actually reminded him a bit of his childhood pet, a near Lassie look-a-like that had lovingly been called Watson after his father's favorite literary sidekick. Hadn't he drawn a collie-toon-thing earlier? Almost instantaneously, his mind awoke with a jolt. There was a toon child, in his house, that looked exactly like the one he had drawn before heading to bed. He was nearly positive that this was no mere coincidence. Well, shit.

Let's see here. He had heard of things happening like this before, though primarily in the earlier days of animation. The first /real/ toons had been made by some talented individuals with something aptly called 'ability.' No one was really sure what brought it about- just that some people had it and some people didn't, and that one could learn to control it. Those who had ability and actually wanted to use it had to get licenses, fill out papers, and do a bunch of other unpleasant things- he figured all of the regulations had at least something to do with the decline of hand-drawn toons, though the rapid population increase of Toon Town following the post-war era was the much more probable cause. It took him a while to realize that the wailing had nearly stopped. He looked back at the girl and saw her returning his gaze with watery, blue eyes, reddened slightly from her weeping. He felt uncomfortable, and cleared his throat a bit, trying to think of something to do. After all, he hadn't really been prepared to deal with this at- he glanced at the clock- nearly six in the morning. He ran his eyes over her again, trying to figure out what he should do, and finally found them resting on a suspicious spot the carpet. Well, there was his first clue.

"Um…stay there," he said with uncertainty as he quickly made his way over to the half-bath just off the kitchen. He grabbed the first old-ish looking towel he could find, and rooted through his odds-and-ends drawer for some safety pins. "Perfect," he muttered, moving as quickly as he could back into the living room. He found her sitting in the same place, still watching him with those same watery, blue eyes. He laid out the towel beside her and placed the safety pins next to it. "Alright," he began, picking her up awkwardly from her mess and setting her atop the readied towel. He had never been more thankful for his years of pre-disposable diaper changing experience.

He sat back to admire his work and glanced up again at the clock. Shit, it was six fifteen already? Was he going to catch any sleep before he'd have to get up? He looked back down at the child with obvious uncertainty. What was he going to do with this? He couldn't bring it to work with him…or at least he was pretty sure he couldn't. No, that wouldn't work. He was a talent scout, not a caregiver. There was no way people wouldn't begin to get suspicious, seeing him toting around a baby toon all afternoon, and that would be if he could even manage to get through border control. Though he liked toons, he had- and hated- to admit that they were pretty dangerous for humans to get mixed up with; while they could laugh off and walk away completely unharmed after getting slammed by pianos and massive anvils, regular human beings could not. Needless to say, it hadn't taken government officials very long to realize the threat toons posed to human safety. As a result, an entirely toon designated area had been cordoned off just outside of Los Angeles, and new, heavy movement restrictions were placed on toons. As he had learned in his on-the-job toon legality classes, only toons that had received adequate ink testing and certain licenses were allowed to move freely between Toon Town and the rest of Los Angeles. There would be no way for him to move an improperly tested toon around through all that security, and while it may have been possible for him to smuggle her in and out twenty or so years ago, that most certainly wasn't the case now. He sighed again and looked with frustration to the child, who was now picking curiously at the yarn of his now soiled rug.

"Alright, what am I going to do with you?" He asked as he watched her without much interest. She cooed, looking back to him at the sound of his voice. He moved her onto the hardwood, then scooped up the rug and made his way over to the washing machine in the kitchen. He'd take care of it in the morning- well…later in the morning, that was. He went back to trying to figure out what to do with this new child. He barely knew anything about toons in terms of biology and how to actually care for them. The most he was responsible for in his career was seeing if they would be of any use to a studio. He glanced up to the clock again. It was six twenty-two, and though he realized it would be rude of him, he didn't have many, if any, other options. He walked unsurely through the doorway from the living room towards the cord phone on the kitchen wall, and grabbed the phone book from the counter beneath it. /Let's see,/ He thought to himself, taking the phone in one hand while skimming the listings with the other He eventually came to rest on the name and grabbed a felt tip pen nearby, circling the number printed just beneath it. He took a steadying breath before dialing; Plotz was definitely not a morning person, and that was based on how he acted /after/ his morning coffee.

The phone rung for a quite a bit before Gus heard another voice. When someone did finally pick up, he almost wished that he hadn't dialed in the first place. "Hello?" A harsh, scratchy, and obviously irritated voice demanded from the other end of the line. "Who is this?" Gus stood silently for a moment, having forgotten everything that he had wanted to say from his nerves. He had to force himself to speak.

"Uh, um…Yes, hello, Thaddeus," he laughed nervously into the receiver. He could practically feel the old toon bristling.

"Anderson? Is that you? You'd best be dying, or something. What do you want?" Gus could feel a lump forming in his throat, and he desperately struggled to remember what it was he wanted to say. In the background, the little toon began to babble loudly. Oh, yeah...that. "What on Earth is that noise? Are you listening to me?"

"Listen, Thaddeus," He huffed, he himself now becoming irritated at the nonstop stream of questions. "Something has happened, and I'm not quite sure what to do about it. It's...important that I figure everything out as soon as possible." He bit his lip and waited for his response.

"What kind of 'something'?" Plotz asked, the words coming to him slowly. Gus figured that he was still partially asleep.

"I don't have time to discuss it right now," He huffed quietly, "Please, come if you can, and hurry." Plotz had begun to protest, but he hung up. For a moment after, he paused and took a deep breath. "Oh God," he murmured, exhaling through his teeth. "Oh God, oh God…I just hung up on my boss." He turned on his heels and looked at the infant, who was now mouthing her hands and cooing at him. "How am I going to explain this?" She tossed back her head and giggled with pure delight. This was going to be interesting.


End file.
